


Hope and Change

by aimmyarrowshigh



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Compliant, Domestic, F/M, Pre-Canon, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8553112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: Since Breha took the throne at fourteen, on a day when the Republic flag flew at half-mast in the thick of the Clone Wars but the Alderaanian colors flew high and proud, she has spoken first in every room she has entered. (Part of that is tradition, that one must not speak to the Queen until they are spoken to, but the rest is just Breha’s brashness leading her to barrel forwards with whatever it is that she has to say before anyone else can get a word in edge-wise. Maybe it’s not Senate etiquette, but she isn’t a Senator, thank the goddesses.)
---Or: Her Majesty Queen Breha Organa of House Organa, by the Will of the Force, of the Planet of Alderaan in the Alderaan System of the Core Worlds, and of Her people faithful and beloved Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Force. And her duties as such.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thistlerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/gifts).



> And also, for Hillary.

**_001_. I swear faithfully to discharge my functions as Queen in order to sustain the Constitution of Alderaan.**  
  
Since Breha took the throne at fourteen, on a day when the Republic flag flew at half-mast in the thick of the Clone Wars but the Alderaanian colors flew high and proud, she has spoken first in every room she has entered. (Part of that is tradition, that one must not speak to the Queen until they are spoken to, but the rest is just Breha’s brashness leading her to barrel forwards with whatever it is that she has to say before anyone else can get a word in edge-wise. Maybe it’s not Senate etiquette, but she isn’t a Senator, thank the goddesses.)

She has not spoken in the last fifteen minutes. Not said a word since Grand Moff Tarkin entered the tea chambers and sat without waiting for her to take her seat at the low, gilt table. He did have the basic decency to remove his hat, but Breha is quite sure that he would have left the damn thing on if he’d considered that she would have had to stare at Palpatine’s symbol for the duration of their meeting. He hasn’t spoken, either, still trying to observe diplomatic policy to the letter, but she can hear his short fingernails clicking together as she flourishes through the motions of preparing an Alderaanian court tea.

Just because her guest is an idiotic fascist lackey with no sense of morals at all doesn’t mean that Breha Organa will stoop to his level. 

Breha strains the aromatic amberroot leaves through a bowl of silver mesh, and Grand Moff Tarkin sighs with obvious derision. Breha has been too well-trained in court manners to smirk.

By the time Breha is grinding the remainders of the leaves with pearl sugar in her glassrock mortar and pestle, the bright gold paste sweet and tangy and to be spooned into the bottom of the bone teacups to thicken the hot tea slowly over many small sips, Tarkin has resigned to jiggling his leg. The heavy heel of hit boot thumps against the floor.

Breha doesn’t say a word.

Finally, Breha carries the tea-tray over to the table. She stands and stares down at Tarkin until he moves aside the datapad that blocks her way from setting down the array of cups and cakes. She watches his cheek tic, but he does sweep the datapad aside.

Breha sits with her back straight as a palace wall. She smooths her skirts over her thighs. Thin fingers lift the teapot and pour dark, flecked, steaming tea over the dollops of golden paste in two cups, first hers, and then one for her _esteemed_ guest. She turns the handle to face Tarkin and offers him the cup with a tilt of her head.

He takes it. Opens his mouth. Closes it again when Breha neither speaks nor sips.

Once Breha has taken a cloudpuff cake for herself and split it open to sprinkle the fluffy, white insides with melting pink sugar, she levels Tarkin with a stare, sips her tea, and sets the cup down with a definitive _snick_ against the tabletop.

“Grand Moff Tarkin, to what do we owe the _great honor_ of a man of your station visiting Aldera in person?”

Tarkin grimaces as he swallows the amberroot tea, and something inside of Breha bristles. Amberroot takes one hundred Alderaanian years to grow from seed to blossom, and it is reserved solely for royal ceremonial teas. Its flavor is complex and rich and deep, but the _effort_ that goes into its care and cultivation and the patience it takes to make a single cup is what makes it special. Not that the Empire could understand the value of such a practice.

“Emperor Palpatine charged me with attaining your signature on the Accord of Concession,” Tarkin says. His voice is clipped as short as his hair. “He is most concerned that such an affluent and influential planet as Alderaan has not seen fit to concede voluntarily. We don’t want another war.”

“Nor do we,” Breha says mildly. “Alderaan has always been among the most peaceful of planets. We have no wish to take military action against the Chancellor.”

“The Emperor,” Tarkin corrects, “Would be very interested to know what prevents your Majesty from agreeing to a peaceful transition of power.”

“Does he?” Breha lets a bite of cloudpuff cake dissolve on her tongue. It has not been peaceful, yet. This man thinks she’s too stupid – too hidden by the trappings of her own finery – to see that the Clone Wars were nothing but a distraction for the Chancellor to use to overthrow the Senate. But he forgets: Breha’s Bail was a Senator. Still is, although just in name, since the Senate has been hobbled at the knees. “I am of course interested in maintaining harmonious relations with the galactic government. Unfortunately, the Accord of Concession countermands key rights detailed in the Constitution of Alderaan, and as the sitting leader of Alderaan, it would be inappropriate for me to approve of such a document.”

Tarkin’s lip curls. It's almost imperceptible. He isn’t of one of the Noble Houses, but he’s been trained for diplomacy since before Breha was born, and it shows. “Due to the status of Alderaan in the minds and hearts of the galaxy, perhaps we could work to come to… an amendment of a mutual benefit.”

Breha stirs her tea with a mother-of-pearl spoon that never touches the sides of the cup. She takes a sip and lets the smooth, heavy, sticky-sweet amberroot paste calm her nerves before she speaks again. “I’m afraid that’s simply impossible. We shall not compromise the integrity of the Constitution of Alderaan by conceding voluntarily to the Chancellor. I think you shall find that if his government takes military action to force a concession, all of the planets of the Noble House will come to our aid on the political stage.”

Tarkin pushes his teacup away. “The Emperor does not make idle threats, ma’am.”

“No, I believe he does not,” Breha says. Her heart pounds under her layers of dresses, but she looks as smooth and cold as an Ilum crystal. “Nor do I, Grand Moff. The bonds of the Noble Houses run deeper than any political accord, and while Alderaan is a peaceful planet, my sistren each possesses a sizeable military force.”

“What exactly is so precious in your constitution that you won’t even discuss compromise to save your planet from imminent action?” Tarkin leans further across the table than proper etiquette would allow, and it betrays just how rattled he is by Breha’s refusal to acquiesce. It makes it easier for her to breathe.

Breha traces the rim of her teacup with the tip of one finger for only a moment: in her mind’s eye, tiny little Leia grabs her stuffed ewok from the floor and brings it into her crib without even raising a hand. “The Accord of Concession requires for all planetary governments to cut ties with the religion of the Force and pledge to uphold the Chancellor’s policy of trying all Jedi as traitors. The Constitution of Alderaan has recognized the Force-given right of religious freedom to all beings for over a thousand years. I could not stand before my populace were I to concede on that point. And so I shall not.”

“The Jedi,” Tarkin says lowly, “Were terrorists and traitors to the Republic that you loved so much.”

“Perhaps some were,” Breha says, and Leia’s tiny face flashes through her mind again; Breha worries what will happen to her daughter if she grows up to look like Anakin Skywalker. “The Alderaanian standards of peace and justice do not allow for the rights of many to be stripped because of the deeds of a few. 

“And, Tarkin,” Breha continues. She leans over the table now, too, and meets the man eye-to-eye. “It wasn’t the Jedi who chose to dissolve _my beloved Republic_ , is it? I’d be careful, if I were you or your _Emperor_ , about whom I labeled a traitor.”

 

**_002_. I swear faithfully to place the well-being of Alderaan and its citizens above the private interests of the Noble Houses.**  
  
At night – once five-year-old Leia has finally fallen asleep – the palace at Aldera is quiet as a cemetery. Sometimes, that is a welcome respite from the constant rattling of a galaxy at war, but tonight Breha doesn’t want to be trapped inside with her thoughts. She opens the thick-paned, heavy transparisteel windows in the royal bedchamber and lets the soft singing of the bizzerbugs outside float up into the room. Better.

Breha sinks onto the mattress and hums under her breath as the heavy weight of her coiled hair releases and falls into a curtain down her back. Bail gently removes the last pin and sets them onto the polished, dark-wood nightstand before reaching into her hair and beginning to massage her scalp with his big, warm hands.

"What are you thinking, my queen?" He reaches for the small glass vial of mint and Massassi blossom oil, spreads a few drops on his fingers and rubs in circles just behind her ears, at the nape of her neck.

"I want to come with you," Breha says, and she doesn't turn to look at Bail. She tips her head forward so that he can ease the tension in her muscles, although it never really goes away. Not anymore.

Bail digs his thumbs into the hardest knot and is quiet for a moment. His hands cradle her neck, steady and secure. "What about Leia?"

Breha knows that Bail can feel the tension returning at the mention of Leia. "I wish that it were safe for Fulcrum to train her." She does look back at Bail, now. "She's getting stronger, and I don't think she even realizes."

Bail looks very tired, under the facade of his eternal calm. The lines around his eyes seem much deeper than the last time she looked. "We agreed that we would let her choose," he reminds Breha. "When she's older."

"I don't know that I can protect her if you don't come back." Breha nuzzles her cheek against Bail's palm. "If she were with Fulcrum, then I could come with you."

"And who would protect Alderaan?" Bail asks her softly.

Breha closes her eyes. For one night, she wishes she could pretend that she won't always choose her planet.

Shifting to sit beside her on the bed, he gently turns her towards him. Bail's lips press against her forehead, and his chin is prickly with stubble at the end of the day. "I want you there beside me, always. But Leia and Alderaan need you to stand in front of them first."

"I know," Breha whispers. "I know." 

She smooths the silk front of her dressing gown over her crossed knees: it almost hurts to sit this way after a long day, the surest sign that she's growing old.

Bail kisses her forehead again, and then each eyebrow, and then over her closed eyelids. 

"If I fail, Alderaan will need you more than ever before," he says. "If wookiees can't free themselves from Palpatine's bonds, then what chance do humans have?"

"You won't fail." Breha looks up at him, daring him to contradict her. "I forbid it."

"I can hardly ignore a royal order." Bail smiles at her, but it's small and wan, and he looks old now, too. He's still tall and strong and handsome, but there's gray streaking through his hair and beard and he's getting thick around the middle. 

Breha loves him.

His smile turns up on one side, like he can tell what she's thinking, and one hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "Are there any other royal orders for me?" He asks, quietly teasing.

"Hold me," Breha says. "Tell me that everything will be fine."

"I've never lied to you," Bail says, solemnly. "You know that." But he wraps his arms around her waist anyway, eases her back against his chest. Outside their window, the starblossom petals rustle in the breeze and release their fruity scent as the petals open under Alderaan’s moonless, starlit sky.

Breha tucks into his lap and rests her cheek against Bail's broad chest so that she can hear his heartbeat thumping reassuringly beneath her ear. She would so, so happily have borne this man's children, if it had been possible for them.

Bail pets her hair back from her face and leans his chin down on the crown of her head. "I told my aides that our departure would be delayed until tomorrow afternoon," he says, suddenly. He was supposed to leave at breakfast.

Breha smiles: small and tiny, but real. He's still the same wide-eyed worshipper that he'd been on their wedding night, in his mind, it seems. "Leia will like that."

Bail tilts his head sheepishly. "It embarrasses me to admit that I was not considering _her_ when I made the decision."

Breha laughs and kisses his throat. "You should be embarrassed. But I am not embarrassed to admit that I'm flattered."

"Ah," Bail says, slowly. "Then I have not failed my calling yet."

Breha flicks open the top button of his silk pajama top and kisses there, too, just above the thatch of dark hair that spreads across his broad chest. "We shall have to see, Senator. You may yet fail your calling tonight." Bail grins at her wolfishly and then Breha is pressed against the sumptuous mattress, giggling and trying to keep quiet so they don't wake the little girl sleeping down the twisting corridor. "We'll see about that."

* * *

He wakes her up in the morning, kissing her bare shoulder, his hand curled around her hip. His breath is so warm it makes her shiver. "Leia will probably be up soon," he murmurs. "You should put on a shirt, at least."

Breha blinks into the buttery sunlight streaming through the gaps in their private chambers' thick curtains. They were chosen by her great-great-grandmother when this palace was built to replace one destroyed by Sith warmongers burning their way through the Core on their way to the Jedi Temple at Coruscant. They hold dust like nothing else Breha has ever seen, and it glitters in the morning light like the little summertime insects that Leia loves to catch and keep in a jar at her bedside.

"I've sent for tea," Bail says, sitting up behind her. He already has his comm pad out. Breha catches Mon Mothma's name at the top of a message before she blinks and sighs, closes her eyes again for a moment. She scoots down the bed to press her face against his hip, drawing the cover up over her eyes. When she was small she and her sisters would build nests and pretend they couldn't tell it was morning, time for lessons upon lessons.

Bail's hand strokes over the lump of Breha's head and shoulders under the blankets. "Come on, your majesty, up. Let me wash your hair before I go."

Breha kisses the warm skin of his side and hauls herself upright. She would usually have one of her aides do her hair after they ate, but Bail is here: she will wear the simple looping braids that his thick fingers can manage with pride.

They shower together quickly and Bail washes Breha's long hair and follows the paths of the bubbles sluicing down her sides with his hands. They're older now than they used to be.

Some things haven't seemed to change: she goes to exit the transparisteel door of their fresher and Bail catches her wrist, tugs her gently back under the spray to kiss her.

"You can keep Alderaan safe," he murmurs against her mouth. "Even if I do fail."

Breha kisses him harder. 

She will fight for Alderaan until her last breath: that isn't in question. But to reply would legitimize the "if." Breha isn't willing to do that just yet. 

"You will not fail," she says. She cups his fuzzy cheek in her hand and the immense precious stone on her wedding ring catches the light. "How hard can it be so free a planet of enslaved giants right under the Emperor's nose?"

Bail laughs, and squeezes her hip. Maybe she's imagining it, but Breha thinks she can feel the metal of his band digging into her skin.

"I will have the best people at my side," he promises.

"You are the best person," Breha says, and the words are thick in her throat.

"I think that's you," Bail says. And he kisses her ring as he takes her hand from his face. "Alderaan is lucky to have you. Leia is lucky to have you. And so am I."

"You shouldn't argue with your queen," Breha says. The joke is old: older than their marriage. It still makes him smile.

"I'll remember next time. Now, my queen, you need to move so that I can shave, if that's alright with you."

"That's a shame." Breha lets her smile widen, her eyelashes flutter. "I like the stubble."

Bail rubs his chin. "I suppose it would help me to fit in on Kashyyyk."

Breha leans in to plant a kiss just over his heart. "On the other hand, I wouldn't want any of the Wookiees getting too amorous around my husband. Perhaps it's for the best."

Bail shudders. "Good thinking, as always, my dear."

Breha laughs as she walks into the closet to begin selecting her dress for the day: breakfast with Leia, then a meeting with her cabinet, lunch with Verrine Sindian of Birren, negotiations with the Trade Council in the afternoon.

"I was thinking," Bail calls after her. "Maybe you and Leia could meet me in a couple days? Somewhere between here and Kashyyk. We could have a vacation." He continues, too aware of her immediate protest: "It would be a good cover for me."

Breha exits the closet and turns so that Bail can lace the back of her dress. She holds her wet hair in a loose knot atop her head. "Alright. I'll tell Liana to find a suitable place and arrange for press."

Bail finishes lacing the dress closed and ties it off tight with a bow. He catches her hair in both hands before it can dampen the smooth toothskin of the gown and takes her shaak-bristle hairbrush from the bedside table to brush her hair so gently that she can’t feel a single snarl. 

“I know that this isn’t what you want,” he says, finally. He speaks so softly that his deep voice almost purrs. “To be apart so often. I appreciate that you allow it.”

“I insist,” Breha says, even though her chest feels hollow. “If you did not rebel and protect Alderaan from outside, there is little that I could do from here. It isn’t what I want, to watch my husband fly off into the face of danger so often, but we do what we must. I feel sick worrying about you when you’re away. But I would feel worse to know that I had done nothing, should something happen to our people.”

 

**_003_. I swear faithfully to respect the rights of all Alderaanian citizens and of all autonomous communities on Alderaanian land under the Constitution of Alderaan and the Laws of the Republic. **  
  
“Mamá,” Leia whispers, her small hand tightening around Breha’s fingers, “This place is scary.”

The ten-year-old princess is not wrong: the refugee camp _is_ scary. Breha had established the safe zone years ago, during the Clone Wars, but it had grown substantially after the farming planet of Raada’s genocide at the hands of the Empire. Bail and Fulcrum had helped only so many of the dwarf planet’s citizens to escape and settle on Alderaan, portioning off a sector of the Western farming grounds for them to establish a colony. There was space for all without encroaching on the private land of the Western Alderaanians, the water was clean, and the housing was simple but spacious.

But after the Raadans came the Riosan escapees, and then the Abednedo, and then the Lothans, the Thabesqui, the Morseerians, Sullustans, and then the Valleyfolk of Jelucan. The Alderaan Planetary Guard had to begin vetting those seeking asylum after a quarto of stormtroopers infiltrated the camp and stalked through one night with their blasters to seek out Rebels and dissidents and anyone who knew the identity of Fulcrum. The Valleyfolk religious icons offended the Abednedo, and they had to be separated; the Riosans looked down on the Raadans and Breha herself appeared to broker a compromise on resources. 

Leia is not as sheltered in her childhood as Breha had been, before the galaxy was a place of unending war, but she has never been anywhere as crowded and militaristic as the Western Camp. 

“Shh, mija.” Breha squeezes her hand back. “It isn’t scary here. Remember, this place is safe, and anywhere safe is not a scary place. Right?”

Leia nods and looks around. Her eyes widen at the size of the blasters perched on the shoulders of the purple-uniformed Planetary Guardswomen. “Promise it’s safe?”

“I promise,” Breha murmurs. “Remember, that’s why this camp exists? Because these beings all needed somewhere safe, so they came to Alderaan. And Alderaan is the safest planet in the galaxy.”

Leia smiles at that. “Right. Because we don’t believe in war.” She pauses. “Then why do the guards have blasters?”

Breha exhales. “Unfortunately, mija, not everyone believes in peace. The guardswomen know never to use their weapons unless someone is in danger, don’t worry.”

“So you can use weapons to protect people, too?” Leia asks, her brow furrowed. She’s wearing her hair just like Breha’s today, in two whorled buns over her ears, and they’re both dressed in simple dark pantsuits and boots for walking over hills and through small garden plots in the camp. Breha watches the new equation for _what is peace?_ calculate behind Leia’s dark, serious eyes, so much like Padmé’s. (So much like Anakin’s.) 

“Sometimes,” Breha says. “You have to be very careful and very responsible if that is your choice. You know that your father and I select all of the Planetary Guardswomen personally, so that we know that only the best people have that kind of power.”

Leia nods, very solemn. “When I am in charge, I will make sure that all of my soldiers are people that I trust.”

Breha smiles at her daughter. “I’m glad to hear that. You’re a long way from having to think of such things. Come, we have many meetings today.”

Leia sits by Breha’s side as a silent shadow as a small committee of representatives from each group of refugees, and then the Alderaanian farmers whose land abuts the the camp, meets individually with the Queen and gives reportage on their numbers, their resources, their prospects, and their problems. They share a common belief in the Force, but not much else.

By the time the fifth group has left, Breha can see Leia fidgeting in her seat. 

“Why don’t you go meet with the children at the schoolyard?” Breha suggests gently. “Perhaps they have valuable intelligence that we can discuss on the ship home, just you and I.”

Leia’s face lights up. “Alright, Mamá! I will listen carefully and mediate problems using my words.”

Breha cups Leia’s warm, round cheek. “Good job, Princess. I will join you soon.”

Leia trots off, one of the guardswomen gliding behind her to act as bodyguard. Breha watches her go, her determined daughter, so much like Bail that if Breha were a different sort of woman, she might be suspicious that he really were her biological father as well as her father in heart and deed. But Breha trusts Bail. In all things.

She closes her eyes and sends a quick prayer to the Force that it be with Bail today at the Senate – the puppet Senate – when he must speak in the presence of Palpatine himself. Later, she’ll send him a holocall and see his face for herself to make sure that he’s alright.  
“Your Majesty,” says one of the Raadan leaders, a woman named Kaeden with one good arm, who knows Fulcrum better than anyone in the galaxy. “Thank you for coming in person to meet with us. We appreciate it very much.”

Breha shakes Kaeden’s strong hand. “It is the least I can do, to make sure that your people are comfortable here on Alderaan. I know that it isn’t your home, but I hope that you can feel at home here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kaeden and her ship of survivors have been living in the camp for eight years, and they are a large part of what helped the Western Sector to become almost self-sustaining. Their knowledge of farming is nothing short of ingenious. Breha sits, and Kaeden sits across from her. Her dark rows of braids are each capped with an orange bead, and Breha wonders if that has anything to do with the fact that Bail’s told her that Fulcrum is an orange-skinned togruta. “Ma’am, I wanted to discuss with you – if there is anything that we can do here to help you and your husband, his majesty the Viceroy.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Breha says, and she smiles. “Focus on helping each other and forming your community here, Kaeden. The business of Aldera is ours to shoulder.”

“Not with that,” Kaeden says quickly. “I meant with…” She licks her lip. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Fulcrum told us that you and his majesty are… that you are friends with Mon Mothma.” She lifts her eyes to meet Breha’s in defiance of Alderaanian custom. But of course: Kaeden is not from Alderaan, and that is something she’ll never forget, thanks to the Emperor. “I would like to be of service to her in any way that I can. The rest of us, too.”

Breha nods. “I will pass along the message through the appropriate channels. I’m sure that your fortitude and support will be of importance to the Chandrilan Senator.” She smiles at Kaeden, and invites her to stay for lunch, a simple soup made from Alderaanian vegetables prepared the Raadan way and a board of Riosan cheeses.

Later, Breha collects Leia from the schoolyard where she’s standing on a swing made from an old ship’s panel. Her buns are coming loose around her face. Leia jumps down from entirely too high not to arouse suspicion and runs to Breha’s side. Her hand is sticky when she folds it into Breha’s own.

They board the royal yacht-class and take off for the quick sublight flight back to Aldera, and Breha stills Leia’s overexcited knees with her hands.

“So,” Breha asks her. “Still scary?”

Leia shakes her head. “No. And I learned lots of interesting things, because I listened real hard to everyone. I will debrief you after dinner, I’m starving.”

Breha can’t help but laugh at that, and she leans across the seat to kiss the top of Leia’s head. She smells like fresh sweat and childish espionage. “I look forward to it, my little spy.”

 

**_004_. I swear faithfully to preserve the culture and language of Alderaan to the best of my power, in order that the Jewel of the Core may lead in dignity, harmony, and beauty, in the manner of my foremothers, so long as the planet of Alderaan does exist. **  
  
The door to the royal bedchamber creaks open before Bail has even finished lacing Breha's gown.

"Mamá?" Leia, fourteen and tiny for her age, peeks into the room. "Will you braid my hair today?"

Breha can't help smiling at her small, nervous face. "Of course. Come here." 

She and Bail are both decent, and it's nothing Leia hasn't seen before: they joke that it's Bail's most important job, making sure his queen won’t pop out of her dress during an _ad_ dress to the people.

Bail ties off the neckline of Breha's bodice and Breha sits on the plush chair at her vanity. She pats her knees. "Come here and sit, mija."

Leia hops onto her lap and peers into the mirror at her own reflection. "Can you do it like yours was for – your coronation day?"

Breha is quiet as she kisses the back of Leia’s head and mourns for her daughter, that she will not get to be crowned as Alderaan’s new Queen. It was the least that Breha could do to remain a sister of the Noble Houses, to waive away the House of Organa’s right to induct new leaders into Alderaan’s monarchy without Imperial approval.

Palpatine would never approve of any Organa having more power. And so, instead, today Leia will join the Senate with her father as a Junior Undersecretary, rather than taking her mother’s place on the throne of Aldera. 

"Of course I can, Princess." Breha smooths her hands over Leia's hair, so thin and fine compared to her own. "You're going to be wonderful no matter how you wear your hair." She parts Leia's hair into sections with the tail of a long hardshell comb and smooths one half over Leia's shoulder so that it will stay out of the way as she braids.

Bail's hands are warm on Breha's shoulders, and he squeezes her gently, nodding in agreement. "You're just as smart and lovely as your mama," he tells Leia. "We're both very proud of you, no matter how today goes."

Leia looks despondent at that. "Do you think it might go badly?"

"Sometimes things go badly in the Senate and it has nothing to do with how hard we try," Bail reminds her, reaching around to tip her chin up. He meets her eyes in the mirror. "But we still try our best."

Leia moves to nod, but Breha clicks her tongue. 

"Stay still, Leia," Breha says, and it pangs bittersweet. She doesn't know if she's said any sentence more times in her life than _stay still, Leia_ over the last fourteen years, and now her baby is flying off to Coruscant.

Bail winks at Leia, and squeezes Breha's shoulder again. "I hear voices in the hallway, I'm going to see if our breakfast is here," he says.

Leia doesn't move, and Breha doesn't speak. She hums “Mirrorbright” as she braids Leia’s hair into a series of whorls that loop and gather until her head looks like a starblossom, six petals reaching out into the freedom of the open air. That’s what Leia is doing today, after all. The empty center, where a crown should, by all rights, sit, goes unspoken, too.

Bail returns pushing the cart of breakfast pastries and blue milk tea, and begins setting them out on the low table behind his ladies. He catches Leia's eye in the mirror several times, and Breha's once. He joins in to sing the words above Breha’s humming.

They won't be together as a family again until the next week, and it feels like too long. Breha hasn't been left alone in the palace for more than a day at a time since Bail brought home a tiny, wriggling newborn with wide-open eyes and a glass-shattering scream. Always, one of them was with their daughter to keep her safe. And Breha knows that Bail will not leave Leia alone on Coruscant, not with Palpatine and his cronies so near, but she can’t help worrying. Space is an awfully big place.

"Alright," Breha says, cutting off Leia's inevitable query as the smell of five-blossom bread fills the room, "Yes, I'm done, go and eat."

Leia scrambles off Breha's lap and turns to kiss her cheek, her spindly arms tight around Breha's neck. 

"Hey, hey," Breha laughs softly. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I don't want to embarrass you," Leia says, muffled into her throat.

Breha holds Leia's face in her cupped hands and smiles at her. "Are you going to follow the Emperor, how he talks and thinks?"

"I'd rather die!" Leia looks scandalized.

Bail chuckles softly at that where he’s sitting at the low table. “Perhaps be less vehement once we take off, mija.”

“Yes,” Breha agrees. “But Leia, as long as you cherish all of the things that we’ve taught you, your father and I, and use those to guide your actions, you will not embarrass me.”

Leia’s face is still pinched. “I never trained to be a Senator, I only know how to be a princess.”

“Hey,” says Bail, and he stands up with a creak of his old knees to come rest his hands on Leia’s shoulders, too. “You can learn to do anything you want to do, anything you need to do. Right now, if you need to learn Senatorial protocol, I totally believe you can do that. If you need to learn to – fight, or pilot, or herd nerfs, I believe you can do that, too. 

“I know you wanted to be the queen, and it hurts right now that you can’t be that – yet, because maybe someday, Palpatine will fall and you can come home to Alderaan to rule – but you and I, we’re going to make a great team to help the galaxy. Right?”

Leia nods, a tiny smile on her face. It’s wobbly, but at least it’s there. 

Breha pats her cheek again. “Come on, mija, let’s eat. Remember, being a good leader, whether it’s as queen or in the senate, is not about just one person or one planet, it’s about the whole galaxy that needs our help to have hope.” She lowers her voice and meets Bail’s eyes over Leia’s head. He nods. “That’s what the Rebellion is all about, my little love. Rebellions are built on hope. That’s what you are to me and to your father and to this planet. Hope.”

Breha stands and together, she and Bail lead Leia towards the low table and the breakfast spread that normally would send Leia into a frenzy. (They keep waiting for her to shoot up tall, but she doesn’t. Breha has no idea where all that food goes in her stick-thin daughter.)

“I’m glad that you’re joining the Senate with me,” Bail says after they’ve all eaten a bit. “Being a queen is good, of course, but I think you’ll find the Senate interesting. It’s a lot of hard work, but it’s good work, and the Rebellion… I know how you like to cause trouble, little one. And the Rebellion is good trouble.”

He cuts his nerf steak thoughtfully. “The Senate demands our attention all the time. So let's do all we can to keep advancing the causes and values we all hold dear here on Alderaan, and work to make the galaxy work for everyone, not just the Imperials and the humans and those at the top. Do you think you can do that, mija?”

Leia wipes her buttery fingers on a napkin and nods, licks her lips. “I hope so. It just… it seems really hard, like you go to Coruscant and do all of your hard work and make your good trouble and then Palpatine comes down or Tarkin flies over and just ruins everything, all the time. I’m worried that I’ll get frustrated. And lonely, maybe.”

“That’s true,” Breha says. Her ankle finds Bail’s under the tabletop and she touches her skin against his soft sock. “It can be very lonely, sometimes, to feel like you’re alone in trying to do good. But you aren’t. There is so much good in the galaxy. There is so much – Light. And you have your father and me; remember, I’m only a holocall away.

“And it will be frustrating. You’re going to do so much good, Leia, I can feel it in my bones.” Breha smiles at her beloved daughter and Leia smiles back. “But you’ll get angry. And you’ll have to fight. Maybe more than your father or I ever have, because you were born in a world where Palpatine has always been in power, and we remember a time before. But I trust _your_ Light, mija, that you know what it could be like to have a better galaxy, even without ever having seen it.”

Breha reaches out and takes her daughter’s hand, and Leia laces their fingers together. On their other sides, Bail takes the hand of each of his ladies, and they’re all joined together.

Breha smiles at Bail for bringing this incandescent girl into their lives, and then at Leia again. “Please never stop believing that fighting for what’s right is worth it.” She swallows. “And may the Force be with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **[beta name]** for helping with the writing on 002. and a little of 004., and as always, for letting me bounce ideas off of you!


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